


This Story's Going Somewhere

by yellowsubmarines



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 01:38:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4984945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowsubmarines/pseuds/yellowsubmarines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick has no direction in his life. Pete is a dropout that can't sleep at night.</p><p>What could go wrong?</p><p>(This was a challenge fanfic given to me by my friend. I really had fun writing this.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Story's Going Somewhere

**Author's Note:**

> The challenge my friend gave me was that I had to include 4 things she decided, somewhere in the story. The four things were:
> 
> -One has to be convinced there's a monster under their bed  
> -A broken bone of some sort  
> -One has to be addicted to Twinkies  
> -Somehow include volcanoes
> 
> I had so much fun writing this fic. I'll admit, it's not one of my best works, but to me it seems short and sweet - so I hope you enjoy it!

Patrick loathed high school. It's not the fact that he hated education, or that he hated the people -- actually, let's be real here, a large majority of high school students are extreme imbeciles and aren't necessarily people to be fond of -- but he did hate the little things about it. Getting up at five a.m, not being able to stay at home and eat his mother's homemade cookies and spend the rest of his hours either listening to Bowie or playing, well, _anything_ , being forced to memorize things he was sure he wouldn't need ever (seriously, when did calculus  ever help people in the real world?), and just...school. Especially when he was perfectly fine being stuffed in the back of the classroom and ignored, and his teacher decides it's the perfect time to force him to answer a question he didn't even care to know the answer to.

The only manageable thing about it was his friend, Joe. Joe was involved in the music scene too, enjoyed a lot of the same things he did. The only difficult part is, well, when Joe would be... _Joe_. Spending hours talking about the girls at the school, or about how "Natalie is totally interested in me, Patrick, you _have_ to be my wingman". It was laughable, actually, how teenage hormones completely got in the way of the things that mattered. Patrick felt alone in that way. He hated the way his mom seemed almost disappointed he wasn't interested in anybody. It wasn't the fact that he wasn't attracted to the human body (he had certainly had his fair share of celebrity crushes), it was just the fact he wasn't attracted to the person, the soul, the basic building blocks of a human being. Sure, the outside stuff was nice and all, but he truly craved that heart of gold that you just don't find in the average high schoolers. Maybe his expectations were just way too high.

He didn't worry about relationships that weren't purely platonic, and Joe was (at first) confused, but eventually understood and they talked less about Patrick's love life and more about the things that mattered to him. Which is what totally caught him off guard when Joe asked the question he did at lunch.

"Hey, 'Trick, you play drums right?" Patrick didn't look up from his sandwich, but nodded hesitantly. "Cool. I'm starting a band -- punk-rock, actually -- and we could use a drummer."

Patrick furrowed his brows. "Okay, cool, I guess." He had never thought of actually performing in front of actual humans. Being in a band was intriguing, though, and what's the worst that can happen?

"Okay, cool, I guess," Joe replied in a mock form, earning a well-deserved carrot to be chucked at his head. "Hey now, keep away from the hair! I actually washed it this time."

"Aw, really? Well, would you look at that! Little Trohman's growing up!" He laughed when the same carrot was chucked back at him. "Come on, man, you totally set me up for that!"

"Less talking, more drumming." The bell rang, alerting everybody that the torture that was class was yet again starting. "Meet me at my house after school, alright?"

"Sure thing!" Patrick called, waving goodbye at Joe as they parted ways. Patrick's next class was some form of geo-science that he wasn't really paying attention to. Something about rocks, volcanoes, rocks from volcanoes, whatever. It didn't matter that much anyways, when he only had a period left before he could live all his drumming dreams.

\--

"Dude, are you wearing a freaking argyle sweater? With socks? And a hat?" was the very first thing out of the stranger's mouth. Not too good with first impressions, Patrick assumed. This dude seemed familiar, and Patrick didn't know why.

"Patrick, this is Pete. Pete, Patrick," Joe had muttered nonchalantly. "Pete's the dude from Arma Angelus, by the way. I substituted for their guitarist and, well, I guess you can figure out where we ended up."

"Patrick, eh?" Pete rocked back on his heels with an eyebrow raised and a toothy smile painted onto his tan face. "Cute. I like it." Patrick muttered something rhetorical, but ended up getting behind the drum set and showing his skills. Joe seemed impressed. "Wow, pretty _and_ talented, catch me before I faint," Pete had said, his face glowing with a vibe that said, _I like you, a lot. We're going to be best friends soon._ Patrick wasn't too sure he agreed, but he didn't say so out loud.

They started rehearsing with covers from other bands, but nothing sounded good without a singer. They all took turns singing the songs just to fill the emptiness. Pete's singing was comparable to a cat vomiting, while being sucked up into a vacuum. Maybe the vacuum was in a volcano, Patrick had pondered while Pete attempted to hit the low notes in Green Day's "Boulevard of Broken Dreams". In other words, it was terrible. It was Patrick's turn, and he was not expecting the awed expressions when he finished.

"Dude," Pete had said, "I thought you said you were a _drummer_."

"I am a drummer," Patrick retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"We can't hide your talents from the world, 'Trick! You have to sing, you _have_ to!"

"No way! I am not a singer."

"Please?" Pete just stared up at him with these giant wide eyes and Patrick completely gave in. Pete knew what he was doing, too, Patrick could see it on his face. "Great! You'll start next rehearsal. Don't worry about finding a drummer, Joe. I know this guy, Andy Hurley, he's ridiculously good."

\--

Summer break was just around the corner, and with all the rehearsals with the band, Patrick was so excited. Turns out, singing wasn't that bad. He just didn't know what to do with his hands, and he could feel Pete's eyes practically burn through his skull as he performed, which was a little bit unsettling. Pete had formed an affection to Patrick, and Patrick was possibly just starting to bloom one as well. Maybe. A buzz sounded in his pocket and he checked his phone, noticing a text from Pete.

'u, me, pizza. now' 

Well, alright. Patrick didn't necessarily know how to respond to that.

'my car's just outside ur school u better not turn me down'

Pete wasn't lying. Patrick got in his car, buckled his seat belt, turned to him and said, "You stalker, how'd you know I was out of school?"

"Joe, duh," he answered as if it was nothing. He was driving Patrick to Pete's apartment, and the two ate a leftover pizza Pete had in his fridge. Not exactly what Patrick was expecting, but it would have to do. It wasn't too bad with Pete there, either. They discussed literature and music and the musical genius of Bowie and Prince and Jay-Z ("Jay-Z?" Pete had snorted. 

"Yes, Jay-Z! He totally, like, molded the hip-hop industry to be something amazing." Patrick had shot back.) as well as what a complete drag high school was and how stupid it was that Patrick had a year left in it ("Wait," Pete had interrupted, "how old are you?"

"Seventeen," Patrick replied pointedly, earning a groan from Pete.

" _God_ , now I feel like a pedophile.") along with the fantastic lecture on drug abuse he had received from Pete when Patrick told him Joe smoked weed ("That stuff, like, ruins the brain, dude. You cannot do drugs, alright? Your brain is too good to ruin. No to drugs, yes to hugs.") which he had already gotten from Andy.  Pete didn't seem to care, replying when Patrick had told him that with, "And you know what? I hope you hear it a thousand more times from a thousand more people. Drugs are addicting, addiction is...well, addicting. It all sucks in the end. You've got a whole life ahead of you, and with your talented brain it would really be not at all rad to see you become a druggie in rehab."

They had talked for so long that Patrick had barely realized it was later in the afternoon than he thought it was. "Hey, Pete," Patrick had piped up quietly when he noticed Pete dozing off in the couch behind him. "Have you ever been addicted to something?"

Pete grumbled something but eventually gave a lazy chuckle. "Twinkies."

Patrick frowned and slugged Pete in the shin, Pete's chuckle turning into a full on laugh. "Seriously."

"I am totally being serious, dude!" Pete threw one hand up in the air and the other made a crossing motion hovering slightly above his chest. "I swear they put like, crack in those things."

"I thought you said drugs were bad, hmm?" Patrick leaned back into the couch and crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow in question.

Pete hummed and stuck a hand under Patrick's hat, running the strands of hair through his fingers. (and, okay, that felt nice.) "Only for you, and your crazy talented little brain of yours."

"I totally want to try these magical, crack-filled Twinkies you speak of," Patrick had remarked quietly as a silence fell over them. He was almost _purring_ as Pete touched his hair, and wow, how embarrassing was that.

"Naaahhh," Pete had mumbled sleepily, "some time soon, maybe. 'm tired."

"You're acting as though you never get sleep in your life," Patrick chided gently. 

"Because I don't, really. Don't like sleeping alone" The last sentence was muffled with a yawn, but the pain still hit Patrick just as hard. He could just imagine Pete feeling sad, staying up late because there wasn't somebody else with him. "Can you sing for me?"

Patrick obliged and started singing "Heroes" by Bowie softly, just getting to the chorus when he noticed quiet snores sound behind him. He turned around and Pete was fast asleep, cuddled into his hoodie on the couch. Patrick hoped he would stay that way until the morning, and ended up heading out. He could get his mom to pick him up.

\--

Patrick was plucking his guitar absent-mindedly on the phone with Joe, not even noticing he was doing so until Joe brought it up.

"You play guitar?" Joe had asked, interested.

"A little, I guess."

"Great! You're totally playing it in the band." Patrick didn't argue, it gave him an excuse to do something with his hands while singing.

Pete was surely excited about it as well when he caught Patrick tuning one of Joe's electrics and messing around with the amp. "You play guitar too? God, what can't you do?" he hugged Patrick from behind, snuggling his head into Patrick's neck. Patrick responded with a grunt, not really trusting his voice at that moment.

\--

Practice was cancelled that day because Joe's brother ended up putting himself in the hospital with a broken leg. The question on Patrick's mind was freaking _how_ , and not even Joe had an answer. He wanted to go see Pete, knowing Pete was probably lonely as heck without anybody there. His mom thought otherwise, apparently keeping him house-ridden for three days. Something about reducing stress or whatever. Because, you know, nothing says stress-free life like being stuck in the same place wondering how your "friend" is doing mentally as he hates being alone. 

Patrick was just getting ready for bed when his phone started ringing, and he crawled under the covers before answering and hearing Pete's voice.

"Hey, Lunchbox. Can't sleep."

Patrick shrugged. "Me either. You worried about being alone?"

Pete sighed on the other line, but frankly sounded exhausted. "That and, one other thing."

"What's up, Pete?" Patrick asked in a worried, hushed tone.

"You're going to laugh at me. It's really...it's super embarrassing, okay?"

Patrick shook his head, even if he knew Pete couldn't see him. "I really won't, I promise," he told him genuinely.

"Well, okay," Pete paused for a moment. "Well, when I was kid I would always have these nightmares, you know? Like they were always occurring and I would wake up like, crying, or whatever. Well, I would always like, imagine just being pulled by something and it would -- Christ, I know this is so stupid -- it would always be under my bed. I mean, I know it's so like...immature, but I guess I can't just shake the feeling no matter how hard I try, you know?"

"Not really, but I can sympathize with you," Patrick said honestly, feeling a pang of sadness flood his system and overtake his brain. He really, really wanted to be with Pete there. "It's not stupid at all."

There was a long pause, then a very hesitant, "Can...can you sing for me?" And Patrick never thought he'd be singing a guy to sleep over the phone, but he totally did just do that and he totally did feel extremely proud of himself, and he totally dreamt of protecting Pete from any monsters under his bed that night.

\--

He was finally graduating high school, finally moving into an apartment with Pete and Joe and Andy, finally feeling satisfied in his life.

Patrick felt nothing but pure joy, and when he sang "Dead on Arrival" out into their first crowd with kids pumping their fists and  having a great time, screaming the lyrics along happily, Patrick knew, he just _knew_ this band was going to be something special. And he wasn't complaining after the show when Pete pinned him against the wall and started kissing him, either.

He remembered when Pete started writing lyrics, and when Patrick started writing music, and it all just clicked.

"We're going to be an amazing duo, you and I," Pete had said confidently after hearing the same song played by the band. 

Pete stopped kissing him, but smiled when he pulled back. "Joe, Andy, into the van!" he shouted. When they all gathered in front of the van, Pete wrapped an arm around Patrick's waist and pulled him to his side. "We're getting some magical, crack-filled cakes of joy."

When he finally got ahold of the steering wheel, Pete just looked so happy. Patrick couldn't help but smile. "Twinkies, on me!" he shouted triumphantly to the other bandmates.

The Twinkies weren't too bad, but the happiness in knowing that Pete was finally happy, finally monster-free, finally sleeping, was much better.

And man, did Patrick love his life.


End file.
